


Princesa

by BlueJay_Silvertongue



Series: Chronicles of WonderPosion [5]
Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: A trip through WonderPoison's relationship, And how their reaction to a word changed with time, F/F, It borrows heavily from Hatred so please read that first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueJay_Silvertongue/pseuds/BlueJay_Silvertongue
Summary: The first time the word falls from her lips, it is meant as an insult...





	Princesa

**Author's Note:**

> So I have _very_ strong feelings about Isabel's term of endearment for Diana. Also, this follows Hatred's timeline, so you will probably want to read it first if you haven't already.

The first time the word falls from her lips, it is meant as an insult. _You naive, innocent little thing._ But she is shaken by the goddess’ sudden reappearance in her life, in her lab, after three years of hatred and three years of longing- six years of unanswered questions and confusion- and the word sounds less like mocking, and more like yearning.

_Diana- Princesa- you do not know me at all if you believe this is not me._

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had known that if she continued her work, sooner or later the strange woman would appear. But she had not expected the violence of the thoughts that stir at the sight of her, thoughts that Isabel would so often quell during the night; thoughts that would drive Isabel to her desk in frustration, her pen moving rapidly across a blank page of her notebook, feelings spilling down from her black soul like the flesh had once spilled down from her face.

Diana does not react kindly to the term of endearment. Isabel does not react kindly to her stated intention to kill her.

But neither of them expect the fervor in both of their reactions when they find themselves kneeling on the cold floor together, everything spoken at last- everything to gain, everything to lose.

_I promise._

* * *

The second time she says it, Diana is standing in the middle of her home, staring up at a painting; a goddess wandering amongst the pitiful offerings of foolish mortals. Diana is smiling at her, just mere hours after threatening to kill her, mere hours after declaring her stubborn, relentless, impossible love for her- for _her,_ Dr. Isabel Maru, who had done nothing but stare up at her in awe- as any living, breathing human being is wont to do in her presence.

_Go to sleep, Princesa._

She wakes the next morning in Diana’s arms.

* * *

Something flickers in Diana’s face when she says it. A flash of emotion, and then it is hidden once more, as if it is she, not Isabel, who is wearing a mask.

But Isabel knows hunger when she sees it. She once spent years wandering through life, the same desire gnawing at her insides every time a pretty woman’s smile lingered a moment too long, or a delicate hand reached out and brushed against her own, or a pair of painted lips pressed lightly against her cheeks.

She was nineteen when at last one of these women strolled forward, her dark eyes blazing, the bitter smell of alcohol still on her breath- and she devoured her, body and soul. She disappeared quickly afterwards, Isabel’s heart still pounding as she leaned back against the trembling wall of the tiny room. That forbidden beast inside of her had purred, satisfied at last, but still hungry- so hungry for more.

They slept together in Germany, once, she and Diana. It was a strange night. She had whispered some strange questions, and Diana had whispered some strange answers in return. But not until they are in their dark bedroom in Madrid does that word slip from her fervent lips, like some holy plea as the goddess grins down at her. Later, the word turns taunting, tantalizing, and Diana trembles.

_Princesa… Princesa…_

* * *

It’s not that she uses it often during their years together. She is more inclined to call her _Diana_ , which is a beautiful name on its own accord. If she is feeling especially mischievous, she will call her by that ridiculous title the Americans branded onto her: _Wonder Woman._ But Isabel is not particularly fond of pet names, and generally fails to see their useful function in society. (Diana’s soft smile is a necessity in society, at least in the society that is Isabel’s world.)

* * *

_I am free, Princesa... I am free._

They are married ten years after Diana had stood over Isabel’s crouched figure, the hulking tank looming over them both, their eyes searching each other’s; a thousand questions between them, a thousand choices. Time swirled around them like an afterthought, as if begging them to see what this moment would mean for them both. Forever.

The tank slammed into the concrete, and the damned chemist rose on shaky legs, unharmed. Diana chose life. She chose love.

Ten years later, Isabel Maru chose the same.

* * *

_Promise me... at the end… you will think of me... and smile, Princesa... No tears..._

Sometimes Diana hears it in the night. A whisper. Tender, affectionate, and relentlessly teasing.

Sometimes she finds herself smiling before opening her eyes and realizing that it was a dream.

Sometimes she clings to that space between awake and asleep- just a little longer, just a little bit longer- grasping desperately at her own disillusion, because somewhere in the depths of her unconscious mind, her wife is still there, breathing, smiling- alive.

* * *

Sometimes someone says it. Someone on the street, or on the television, or in a meeting, and her heart lurches uncomfortably. It used to make her so hungry, that word. And Isabel used to say it in that strange way, with her unscarred lip curling with amusement; fully mocking, fully adoring. But now it only fills her with desire, simple desire.

She only keeps one of her promises. The years trickle by, and Isabel haunts her days as often as she haunts her nights. Sometimes the latters grow so long and lonely that Diana can no longer lie alone in the silent dark, and she rises and opens Isabel’s notebooks. And she does not know if it is a comfort or a crime that once, this woman had yearned for her as violently as Diana yearns for her now.

 _I wish I could make you understand what you have done. You have undone me, undone everything, and left me a thing that must beg. I did not ask for you to spare my life, and I did not ask for you to save it. I did not ask for you to find me, but you did, and you gave me no choice but to need you. To dream of you. To crave you. You have consumed me, and all that is left are these tattered fragments of my soul, and this weary, forlorn throbbing in my mind, and a broken, ruined body that is helpless to you._ You _. Oh, Princesa, you do not know what you do to me; you do not know how much I hate you, how much I need you. I cannot. I cannot. Please. Release me. If I must live, let me live without this aching for you. Let me live free of this torment… or let me die in peace._

* * *

In the beginning, when time was new, Zeus created mankind.

But in the end, when time is all but spent, Diana is left in the darkness.

Alone.

Millions upon millions of years of time press down upon her. She can feel the weight of lives lived and lost, civilizations built and fallen. A universe created, and destroyed.

She does not remember the taste of food, human or divine.

She does not remember the colors that made up the Earth.

She does not remember the sounds of the planets singing as they danced.

She does not remember the warmth that radiated from the stars.

She does not remember what anything looked like before it was consumed by the dark. This empty, endless dark.

But then she remembers...

Somehow.

A woman. A smile.

A word...


End file.
